The father, in the modern drama, however justly incensed he might have been, would have relented at the sight of so much real sorrow. Accordingly, in the play of Ducis, Œdipus and Polynices mutually embrace in the French fashion. With us, Christianity transfers the penalty for sin to a future life. But if Œdipus had pardoned Polynices, he would in a Greek point of view have destroyed the very principle of filial piety. With them, the expiation for impious wrongs must be made by the actual criminal in his own person, and in this world.[1]
Suddenly the sky grows black with storm-clouds, the lightning flashes, and peals of thunder, in quicker and louder succession, denote that the end which Œdipus had prayed for at last draws nigh. The Chorus, terrified by "the fire from heaven" and the incessant roll of thunder, call loudly upon Theseus; and the Athenian king, amazed at the tumult, enters hurriedly, in obedience to the summons. Œdipus bids him follow where he leads; for to his eyes alone shall be revealed that secret grave which should prove a bulwark against his foes—"stronger than many shields"—and to his ears alone shall those mystic words be uttered, which shall be transmitted at the hour of death to his son, and to his son's sons after him. "Follow me," he cries to his daughters; "follow me, who have so often followed you—but touch me not. Let me find for myself the sepulchre, where the gods have willed that I shall rest in peace. Fol-
